Ripping at the seams Quietly though Like a mouth parting The rip of lips opening In a silent room Impending doom Seals them back shut The combustion is sequestered To a smaller quarantine Exploding inside a container Of memories Flashes of shame Burn up in flames Inside my brain And I find myself lost In a maze of moss Trees so tall I can’t see the tops Moonlight shines On matte rocks In a forest In my head Wandering around Yet laying in bed Duality so striking Complacent activity Stagnant movement Stationed electricity The fireworks bursting Behind my eyes Are blinding yet They shine no light
I do not know how to not spiral. I don't know how to catch myself when I fall. I don't know how to put up my hands and make the darkness turn to light. I don't know how to sleep when tonight won't strike 12. I can wait, but then I sit. Waiting for the moon to tell me that it will be the last thing I see and it will be beautiful. But what if I cant bring myself to believe it? What if 12 never comes? What if it never leaves? What if Im stuck there? What if theres just always another 12 to wait for in the inevitable tomorrow? What if I dont make it there?